Where the Heart Is
by HermioneGrangerTwin
Summary: Hermione struggles with finding where home is. R/Hr. Post-DH.


Where the Heart Is

Hermione laid in bed, unable to sleep. She closed her eyes, thinking over her parents' request. Stay in Australia? Leave England? Leave _Ron_? How could she leave _Ron_?

* * *

_ Hermione remembered planning vigorously for this moment, but as she saw the glazed look leave her parents' eyes, all preparations were forgotten. Her father looked around at the suddenly unfamiliar house. Her mother was disoriented._

_ When he spotted Hermione, he stared at her for a few moments. "What the Hell is this?"_

_ "_John!_" Her mother exclaimed, giving him a cuff on the arm. "Hermione, where are we?"_

_ She took a deep breath and started from the beginning. The _very_ beginning. She told them about all the turmoil of the last year. With the major exception of the loving Ron bits._

_ Her mother looked at her carefully and asked the one question Hermione had _not_ wanted to answer: "What are you going to do now?"_

_No answer. Not because she thought they wouldn't like the answer, but because she didn't know the answer herself._

_"We want to stay," her father said determinedly after they had inspected the house._

_ Her mother grasped Hermione's hands. "Will you stay with us? We'd love to have you with us."_

_

* * *

_

Hermione was torn. She felt she'd been imposing on the Weasleys at the Burrow, but she would miss her friends. And she wouldn't have Ron. But the way things were—completely static and agonizingly close—she didn't know if it would make a difference. Perhaps a bit of a holiday from each other would help.

Or maybe it wouldn't. Doubt filled her chest, choking her. What if he decided that he didn't want—whatever it was they had? They weren't a couple, but they were definitely something.

She crawled out of the bed and crept quietly to her parents' room, casting a silencing spell on their door and continued downstairs to the fireplace. She needed to talk to him. She pulled the little jar of Floo powder that Mrs. Weasley had given her—"for contact, dear," Mrs. Weasley had said, winking—off the mantle. The clock on the wall chimed one. She briefly calculated the time it would be in England. Half past four in the afternoon. Ron would definitely be awake by now. She laughed a little at the thought. He could sleep for England.

She held her head in the fire and whispered "_The Burrow!_" as she threw the powder into the grate.

Mrs. Weasley saw her first. "Hermione! How are you? How are your parents? Were you able to—?"

Hermione laughed. "I'm fine. They're fine. I reinstated their memories and they're happy that I'm fine."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Well, I don't blame them! I'll go get Ron," she said, leaving the fireplace and going up a flight of stairs, calling, "RON!"

"What?" Hermione heard him bellow back.

"HERMIONE'S IN THE GRATE!"

She heard his thundering footsteps down the stairs and grinned. _Ron._ He hurried towards her and kneeled in the front of the hearth. "Hermione," he said, grinning like a small child.

"Hi Ron."

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm fine. You?" Small talk gave her dyspepsia.

"Great. Except that Mum made me corned beef for lunch again."

She laughed. That was more like him. "Do you think she just does it to bother you?"

He furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure. Sometimes, I wonder myself."

"Well, perhaps next time, you shouldn't get all riled up about it and see what happens."

"But what if she really thinks I like it and then I act like I like it and she'll _really_ think I like it, when I _really_ don't like it?"

"Ron," Hermione said, again laughing at his confused statement. "I don't know."

He sighed deeply. "I don't either. How did your parents take it?"

"They're surprisingly fine. They're great." Her smile faltered a little at the thought of what she had to talk to him about.

"Great," he said, watching her face carefully. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, meeting his eyes with what she thought looked like happiness.

"Something's wrong. You're worried about something."

"Well, it's not really a problem. I mean I'd love to do it, but I don't know how I'd feel or how you'd feel—I mean your family—" she said, blushing. "and I'd miss you, so I don't know if I really want to, but my parents really want me to, so I think I will, but at the same time—"

"Hermione—" He cut her off, smiling at her rambling. "What are you blathering on about?"

"My parents want me to stay in Australia with them," she said quickly.

"Oh." Now, his smile was faltering. "Stay? For how long?"

"A long time," she replied.

"How long is a long time?" he asked warily.

"Through Christmas."

Ron's eyes widened. "_Christmas?_" he asked, turning white. He looked down, clearly thinking. "That's seven months!"

"I know," she said.

"What about getting a job? Don't you need a job?"

Hermione looked at the wall to the right of him, at Mrs. Weasley's enchanted clock. She couldn't look him in the eye. "Well, Ron. My parents are pretty well-off. They really don't have to work either, but they do the dentistry for the fun."

"Dentistry is fun?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, to them," she said, still staring at the clock on his right. "So, I really wouldn't have to work."

"Oh." Ron said again. She hated to say it, with the Weasley's monetary status.

"Right. I mean, I wouldn't want to not work. I'd get a job eventually, but I don't need one for the present."

"Right," he said, not looking at her either. "So are you going to stay down there?"

"I don't know. I think I'd like to, but I might not like it as much in practice. So, I'm not sure."

"Why did you Floo me?" he asked seriously.

Hermione turned to look at him directly to find he was looking at her as well. This made her stomach flutter. "I wanted to know what you thought," she said, uncomfortably truthful.

"Oh." He sat silent for a few minutes.

"It's okay," she said. "You don't have to say anything, I mean, it's not really—"

"No, Hermione. I'm glad you asked me," he said. "I mean, I don't know how to say what I think. I don't really want you to be gone that long, but I mean, I can't do anything about it." He paused briefly. "That didn't come out how I meant it. I understand that you want to stay, and I want you to be happy. But I'll miss you."

At any other time, that declaration would have made her smile, but now, she mourned it. "I'll miss you too."

They spent a couple minutes in silence. Hermione yawned.

"You should go to bed," Ron said. "It must be tomorrow on your end."

She laughed at the way he phrased it. "Yeah, it's quarter past one."

"You should go to bed."

"Yes, Mum," Hermione answered mockingly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Be sure to be up before noon tomorrow. I'll call at about nine o'clock my time."

"Yes, Mum," he repeated, raising his eyebrows at her.

She laughed. "Good afternoon, Ron."

"Good night, Hermione."

And with that, she pulled out of the fire and sat back, watching the green flames disappear.

* * *

Hermione and her Mum spent the day shopping. Mostly, her mother shopped for her, as she was less than enthusiastic about clothes and beauty accessories. When they got to the book store on high street, Hermione did her part. Books were something Hermione could do.

They ate lunch at a small café in between Hermione's book store and her mother's clothing store.

"Hermione, dear?" her mother prompted. It was then that Hermione knew she was in store for interrogation she wouldn't enjoy.

"Yes?" she asked warily.

"Now, the last time I heard, you were hoping Ron would do something at his brother's wedding," she said.

_Oh, dear._

"How did that go? In fact, how has the Ron situation gone? You haven't told me anything about him that wasn't pertinent to the war."

"Oh dear God, Mum." Hermione knew she was red.

"What? You used to tell me all this." Her mother's eyes were suddenly shiny as she looked over Hermione's shoulder. "But that's okay. I mean, if you're too old for that."

"Oh, Mum," Hermione said, sighing. "I'll never be too old to tell you things like that. I'm your only child. I'll always tell you everything, even if it does me no good. You're my Mum." Her mother smiled up at her, clearly reassured. "It helps that I didn't have any friends when I was young, either. Especially girl friends."

Her mother laughed. "Yes, I suppose. Now, tell me how the Ron thing has gone. Start with the wedding."

"Oh, no. I'll have to start from before Harry got to the Burrow. You see, I was distraught over taking your and Dad's memories, so I was a bit of a mess. And Ron was there. He took care of me. I knew something had changed at Dumbledore's funeral, but Ron was always there when I needed someone to talk to. I mean, Ginny was great, but Ron was, well—"

"Ron."

"Yes," she said, smiling. And that was how they spent the next hour or so, discussing the ups and downs of Ron and Hermione's relationship, ending with last night's discussion through the fire.

"Oh, Hermione. He misses you."

"Yes, but Mum, I love being with you and Dad again. Do you think Ron will decide he doesn't want what we have if I don't come back 'til Christmas?"

"Oh, Hermione," her mother said, laughing. "Do you really think that he'll decide that he doesn't love you after what happened over his last Christmas?"

"What do you mean? He left. What does that have anything to do with—"

Her mother rolled her eyes and cut her off. "He missed you terribly, dear. Did you listen to what he said? If he said it the way he did, he'd heard _your _voice when he came back. He was listening for _you_. He missed _you_."

"But, Mum. He's waited forever and—"

"And he'll wait for a few more months for you. Now he knows you like him back."

"But what if he isn't sure?"

"_You_ kissed _him_. He knows. It'll be alright, Hermione. If he doesn't want to wait, he'll come to you. I'm positive."

"Oh, Mum. What if you're wrong?"

"When have I ever been wrong before?"

Hermione laughed. "Do you want me to make a list?"

Mrs. Granger slapped Hermione on the arm. "Oh, hush." Hermione continued to laugh and her mother soon joined her. "I meant, when have I ever been wrong about your boy troubles?"

"I don't recall," Hermione admitted.

Her mother smiled smugly. "That's what I thought. Come on, let's go back to Austin Reed! I saw this great suit dress that Ron'll just love!"

"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed exasperatedly.

* * *

Hermione threw the Floo powder into the grate at half past ten. She'd been waiting anxiously all night for her parents to go to bed. She thought they'd gone to bed earlier than this before, but perhaps their bodies were used to the sleep cycles of Wendell and Monica Wilkins now. She sighed.

"_The Burrow!_" she whispered.

Ron was sitting in front of the hearth when she first glimpsed the Burrow.

"There you are!" he exclaimed. "You tricked me. You said to be up before noon, and now look! It's two o'clock! I could've slept 'til one! Are you trying to kill me?"

Hermione frowned. "I've been trying to get my parents to go to bed all night. I thought I'd be here earlier than this!"

He looked at her skeptically. "I'll bet. I'll bet you were just dying to get in the fire. I'll bet that you just wanted to make me get up early!"

"Yes, Ron," she said sarcastically. "I have just been plotting for years to ruin your summer hibernation. That was my goal."

"Hibernation?" Ron asked. "That's a bit—excessive, don't you think?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow and gave a sardonic laugh. That was enough to give Ron a laughing fit.

"Okay, okay, so maybe I do sleep a lot."

"That could be an understatement." She smiled in spite of herself.

He smiled at her too. But there was something to his eyes. Melancholy, perhaps.

"I miss you," she said quietly, almost a whisper. She wished to reach out and touch him, a fire in her nerves that had nothing to do with the flames her head was encased in.

He made a move as if he'd like to reach out and stroke her face. "I miss you too."

She sighed deeply. "Ron, I want to come home. I don't want to—"

"Listen, Hermione. As much as I miss you, I don't want you to come home just for me. You haven't seen your parents for a year. You've missed them too much to leave now. I'll wait."

She comprehended the words and smiled. He hadn't meant to say home as if the Burrow were home. He had meant that England was home. But the words were so true. Her parents weren't _home_ anymore. _Home_ wasanywhere Ron was. Whether it was Hogwarts, the Burrow, or Grimmauld Place, Ron was _home_.

This realization shocked her as much as it pleased her. _Home._

"What?" he asked.

She focused on him in surprise. "Hmmm?"

"You said 'home'. What about home?"

"Oh." She scrambled slightly. "Australia isn't home."

Ron furrowed his brow. "But your parents feel at home there, don't they?"

"Well, yes," she answered, looking at the hearth in the Burrow instead of him. "But I don't."

"Ah. Missing the big white house," he said knowingly.

She laughed at the name. Her mother had the living room painted bright white and decorated it with white furniture and carpet. She supposed that made more of an impact than her wooden bedroom filled with maroon. It was possible that he blocked out that room due to all the maroon. After years of maroon sweater after maroon sweater, he didn't have a fondness for the color. The sweaters, however, made maroon her favorite color. "Not really. It's not a place as much as—" She struggled to describe the way she felt without sounding obsessive. "—a feeling."

"A feeling?" he asked, clearly perplexed.

"I'm not attached to a place. I'm attached to a feeling."

"I don't understand," he said quietly.

"I'm—I'm—My parents aren't home anymore," she finally said. "I'm not attached to my parents' love and hearth anymore."

His eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "Oh."

"Oh?" she asked, anxiousness feeling filling her chest painfully. Like someone had laid a tome on her chest.

"Oh. _Home_."

She smiled at him. "Yes. _Home_."

He smiled gently. "I think I know exactly what you mean."

"I hoped you would."

* * *

Weeks passed on with little correspondence from Ron. Hermione was not worried. Her parents and her long book list kept her occupied for many days and she assumed that Ron was being occupied as well. He wrote her short letters that told her little. She often found herself, however, thinking about him. An aching filled her chest at these times. Perhaps he was having fun without her. Perhaps he _had_ decided he didn't want to wait. Perhaps he had changed his mind.

She chose not to think about that.

She knew, in her heart, that she missed him terribly,—it threatened to burst out of her carefully composed mind—but she chose to put that away. Pretending to be busy was easier than yearning for Ron's presence.

She caught up on all the music she had missed while gallivanting around England. She played her parents' old vinyls at top volume, singing so loudly it had little semblance of tune. This was how Ron found Hermione that Thursday morning: singing loudly, her eyes closed, her head banging out the beat.

"HERMIONE!" he bellowed over the cacophony of the rock music. He was standing on her hearth. "HERMIONE!"

"Ron?" she asked, hurrying to the record player to turn it off. She stood in front of him, astonished to see his lanky frame in the neat living room. "What—why are you here?"

"I couldn't sleep. I had to see you."

For a few moments, she just stood there staring at him. She was at a loss. He was there? Now?

Then, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and just holding him. She had the silliest urge to cry into his shoulder from relief. Relief that he came to see her. Relief that he missed her. Relief in his existence in this house.

"Oh, Ron," she sighed. He wrapped his arms around her back and buried his face in her hair at the crown of her head. He nuzzled her head with his face, taking a profoundly intense lungful of her scent. His hands traveled up and down her back in stripes that seemed to soothe him. It created a contentment in her chest as well. "There aren't words for how much I've missed you."

"Don't try to find them. I feel it too."

The words made wetness press painfully at the corners of her eyes. She bit her lip to keep the tears away. The reunion was poignantly close. Hermione had no idea how she'd be able to let him go ever again. She believed she could stand there with him until her parents came home and she still wouldn't have her fill.

"Ron?"

"Hmmm?"

"I don't think I can let you leave without me."

Ron pressed his face into her neck. "I don't think I could either."

"Good."

He kissed her cheek and pulled back to look into her eyes. One hand left the small of her back to stroke her cheek with his thumb and finally place his palm against her cheek. She pressed her face into his hand and he gazed at her with heartrendingly expressive eyes. He didn't gaze for long. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, pulling her body impossibly closer to his. He pulled back again, pushing her hair behind her ear and quickly moving to stroke it. "God, how I've missed you." He buried his face in her neck again.

She kissed his cheek softly, his skin leaving a lingering heat on hers. When he finally pulled away, her whole body felt cold from the lack of his embrace. He sat down on the couch and put his face in his hands.

She quickly sat down next to him, too far away though they were on adjoining cushions. "What's wrong?"

He looked at her with those same eyes that broke her heart. "I can't—I can't live without you. Not now, anyway."

"What's the problem? I need you too," she said, taking one of his hands in both of hers.

He looked at her with unease. "I'm afraid that things could go badly, and I'd lose you forever. I don't think I could do that. Ever. I don't—I shouldn't—All reasonable thinking says you shouldn't be with me; that you shouldn't want to be with me. So that leaves me in a tight spot."

Hermione's heart was rent at that moment. No words could've hurt her heart more then. "Oh, Ron," she breathed again. "Reasonable thinking says the same thing about you being with me. Reason just doesn't apply in this case, when it comes to you."

His hand was gripping hers as if she was going to evaporate. "What happens if this ends badly?" he asked weakly, clearly afraid of the answer.

"I don't know," she replied. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. As for me, I prefer to hope that it won't. I'll put that thought away. Are you willing to take that risk? Are you willing to hold on and jump, hoping you make it out alive?"

He looked at her carefully. His eyes, the blue, showed a fierceness that he could unleash at any moment. "More than willing."

She grinned at him, her eyes brightening. "Then we better start thinking of a plan."

* * *

Hermione laid in bed, unable to sleep. She closed her eyes, thinking over her parents' request. Stay in Australia? Leave England? Leave _Ron_? How could she leave _Ron_?

She had come back to where she had started. She was no more sure of staying in Australia than she had been in the beginning. But this time around, she knew Ron loved her, and that changed her thought scheme drastically.

Ron would have had to sleep on the couch the morning of their reunion, as the second guest room wasn't prepared, so he went home to the Burrow to sleep on that couch. But he wanted so desperately to be in her house.

It had been one o'clock in the morning in England when he came that morning. She smiled at the thought, even now. He came back at ten o'clock in the morning in England, forgetting it wouldn't be morning in Australia and was currently sleeping some surplus time on her couch right now.

Would she go back to England now? Would he stay in Australia now? They couldn't stand to be away from each other anymore. She felt she was imposing on the Weasleys, but the Australia house wasn't home at all.

Then, she concocted a plan. She smiled, her work done. She couldn't wait to tell Ron, but sleep came over her.

* * *

Hermione awoke and came downstairs to find Ron standing in her kitchen, making tea. Toast and butter were sitting on the kitchen table. She leaned against the doorway and smiled at his back. He belonged with her. She loved seeing him in the morning, hair tousled, in her kitchen. "Aren't we the little homemaker?"

He turned around, smiling at her pajama-clad form, and then went back to his tea. "Good morning to you, too. How was your night?"

"Good," she said, walking over to wrap her arms around his middle from behind. "And you?"

"Peaceful here," he answered after a brief pause. He made no response to her embrace.

She pressed her cheek into his back. "I'm glad."

He made to move to the table and she let go, sitting across from his cup at the table while he poured tea. She picked up a piece of toast from the enormous pile between the two cups and ate silently. She was suddenly filled with doubt. What if he didn't like all that much closeness? What if he didn't like her plan? It was possible that he didn't enjoy being as close as she did. It was possible that she too clingy.

Then he took a seat. It wasn't the seat she expected him to take, however. He had picked up his cup and sat down on her right, away from the toast. He grinned and leaned across her to grab a piece of toast. But his right hand stalled over the toast and his left pressed against her thigh as if he needed it for balance. But the mischievous grin he wore gave him away. He kissed her temple softly and pulled away, his right hand holding a piece of toast. His left and lips had left fire in their wake. He took a cheeky bite out of his toast and chewed slowly while she stared at him. He swallowed and looked back at her. "What?"

She leaned out of her chair quickly and caught his lips with hers. He replaced his hand on her thigh and pressed the other to the side of her face. And then, she was in his lap, kissing him forcefully, his body pressed into the back of his chair. She pulled away and made to move back to her chair, but his arm that had been glued to her thigh was around her waist before she could get away. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Back to my seat, so I can have breakfast."

He raised an eyebrow. "You can't have breakfast in this seat?"

"I don't think it would be polite to hinder your movement in such a way."

"I don't mind."

She grinned. "Then I shall sit here I suppose." Hermione pulled her tea and the toast plate towards her new seat and leaned back into Ron's tall frame. "I've been thinking about the housing predicament."

"Have you?" Ron asked, continuing to keep his arm around her waist. "And do you have any solutions?"

"I have a proposition," she said.

"Share this proposition with me," he requested.

She turned to look at his face. "Well, since I don't feel at home in this house, I want to go back to the Burrow." He opened his mouth to speak, but she covered it. "But there's too many people at the Burrow and I feel like your mother shouldn't have to take care of me. So, I thought about Grimmauld Place. But we don't know what's become of that or who can get in." She paused. "Then, I remembered my old house in England. It needs to be cleaned and watched while my parents are in Australia. So, I think I'll house-sit and I'll look for a job back home."

He began to smile, seeing the plan. "I see. Is there room for a guest in this house-sitting?"

"In fact, there is," she said, sounding like a television announcer. "Would you like to fill this occupancy?"

He feigned contemplation. Excitement was clear on his face. "I think that can be arranged."

"But there's another problem."

"There is?" he said, the excitement in his tone faded.

"Yes. You see, my parents have missed me very much and I'd like to be able to stay with them at least through the month." His face fell a little more. "And they'd like to meet my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend?" he asked. "Well, that is a predicament."

"Yes."

Ron looked at her seriously. "Who's your boyfriend?"

"I don't know. I was hoping _you_ would be," she said.

His face was very serious. "You were?"

Hermione looked away. "Oh. Well, if you don't want to—" He cut off the statement with a kiss.

"I want it, Hermione. I want it more than you know." And he kissed her again.


End file.
